


a road to take me home

by allegrolines



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Feelings, Food, M/M, Woohyun's cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegrolines/pseuds/allegrolines
Summary: For the third time in the last fifteen minutes, Howon scowls down at Woohyun’s rice cooker.





	

For the third time in the last fifteen minutes, Howon scowls down at Woohyun’s rice cooker as he fiddles with the settings once again. As far as appliances go, this one is big and shiny, top of the range, with a liquid glass screen and way too many buttons. It’s nothing like his own cooker, Howon thinks, frowning when the word _cake_ flashes in the display; he is well acquainted with Woohyun’s sweet tooth, but there’s no way Woohyun is ever going to use this thing to bake—or ever going to start baking for himself to begin with, not when he only has to walk two blocks to get to the nearest convenience store. Howon exhales, rubbing one hand down the side of his neck. A pot bubbles gently on the stove, a faint line of smoke rising up from it.

One phone call and he could have got everything cooked by someone who actually knew their way around a kitchen, and then delivered promptly to him, no questions asked. He can still do that; there’s just enough time left before Woohyun comes back, and Howon bought the side dishes at a grocery store on his way to Woohyun’s flat, after all. However—

Soup and rice. That’s what the meal is going to be about, at its core.

He can manage to make soup and rice on his own. More than that—he _wants_ to.

Howon reaches for the lid of the pot. He takes it off, releasing a thick cloud of steam, and grabs a spoon to stir the broth. He tries a small sip of it then, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing it down. It’s slightly bland, but the delicate taste of seaweed already comes through like a familiar comfort. It’s meant to simmer for a while longer, so Howon only adds a pinch of salt to it, careful not to overdo it. As he turns, he’s aware of the pair of blue eyes tracking his steps. Mangmangie had greeted him by jumping on Howon without a warning, digging its sharp claws into his shin through the fabric of his jeans, and then dashing off into the apartment, leaving him by the front door with one shoe on and the other off, startled but amused. The cat is sitting in the shadow of one of the chairs now, flicking its tail every so often. Howon approaches it after a moment of hesitation, crouching down to offer it a piece of kibble that he takes from Mangmangie’s own bowl. Mangmangie sniffs it briefly before raising its head and staring up at Howon, as if wondering what he’s trying to do. Howon snorts. When Mangmangie curls around itself and tucks its nose under its tail, he straightens up and goes back to the counter, letting the cat be.

He’s determined to make the cooker work, and after some more prodding he manages to turn it to the right setting. From there, the next motions are simple enough—add the right measure of washed rice, cover it with the right amount of water, press _start_ , wait for it to be ready. That done, Howon rinses the strainer and the cutting board he used earlier. There’s not much left for him to do other than setting the table. He takes out a few small plates for the side dishes instead of leaving them in their plain plastic containers—he got two different kinds of kimchi and a generous portion of stir-fried fish cakes, things he knows Woohyun enjoys eating. It won’t be an elaborate meal—it’s not grilled meat, or a party course like japchae, fiddly and time consuming to make—but the simplicity of it feels right.

Just as he takes the soup off the stove, Mangmangie perks its head up, its whiskers twitching, uncoils itself, and trots out of the room. Howon isn’t surprised to hear the rattle of the door shortly afterwards, nor the indistinct murmur of Woohyun’s voice, followed by Mangmangie’s insistent meows. Howon can easily picture the scene—Mangmangie rubbing its face on the knuckles of Woohyun’s outstretched hand, the delighted grin in Woohyun’s face. He knows Woohyun must have seen the kitchen light from the hallway by now; Howon waits for him to come in, a flutter of anticipation twisting in his chest.

The first thing Woohyun says when he comes into sight—the first thing he says when he sees Howon in his kitchen and the food laid on the table—is a soft _Oh_. He’s smiling wider than Howon had been prepared for, and he walks in with Mangmangie winding around his feet. “Hey,” he says. He’s looking around like he’s trying to take in everything at once and doesn’t know what to focus on first. “What’s this?”

“Dinner,” Howon replies.

Woohyun laughs, bright and sudden. He crosses the space between them in three quick steps and crashes into Howon, pressing against him without another word, sliding his arms around Howon’s sides and up his back. He smells like recycled air and a lingering hint of aftershave. Howon hugs him back and holds him close, one hand cupped over his nape.

“Did you have fun?” he asks. His mouth brushes Woohyun’s neck when he speaks, just below Woohyun’s ear. He feels Woohyun nod into his shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

Woohyun’s voice is muffled when he answers. “You—” he starts. “You did—?”

“Not everything,” Howon says, thinking of the little plates arranged around the pot, “but—”

“ _Howonie_.” It sounds like a protest, and when Woohyun laughs again it comes out strangled and rough. “Just now, when I got home—”

“Mhm?”

“You made me seaweed soup,” he says very quietly. “I could tell what it was as soon as I opened the door.”

The warm smell of the soup has spilled all over the flat; that’s exactly why Howon wanted to cook it himself rather than ordering it at a restaurant. He remembers waking up to that same smell year after year while he was still living with his parents; he knows Woohyun has similar memories of it, too. “I also made rice,” he says. He pulls back a little, loosening the tight grip he has around Woohyun’s arms. Woohyun’s eyes are puffy, and even though there aren’t tears on his face Howon hears his breath catch and stutter. “Welcome home, Hyunnie,” he says. “Happy birthday.”

Woohyun shakes his head. “‘S not my birthday anymore,” he mumbles.

“That’s not the point,” Howon tells him. Before he can say anything else, Mangmangie meows and steps on Woohyun’s toes. “Your cat almost mauled me earlier,” Howon adds, changing the subject, and then, “We should eat before the food goes cold.”

“Right.” Woohyun draws back from him slowly, his fingers lingering on Howon’s waist. He already looks a little more composed—emotional, yes, but not as overwhelmed as he had seemed just a moment before. “Sit down,” he says. “I’ll just go wash my hands.”

The broth is still hot enough to burn Howon’s tongue when they finally begin eating. Woohyun stretches his legs under the table with a contented sigh and reaches over the table to put a slice of fish cake in Howon’s bowl. His feet tap on the floor—Howon thinks he can recognize snippets of song beats here and there in the random patterns Woohyun makes, but mostly they are just another bit of background noise, like the hum of the fridge and the clink of their chopsticks against ceramic.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Woohyun says after a while. They haven’t talked much; Howon can tell Woohyun has been pacing himself, chewing each mouthful slowly instead of rushing to finish everything like he would normally do, a bad habit of years of too-short breaks. “It’s good.”

“It’s nothing too complicated,” Howon replies, voicing the thought he had earlier.

Woohyun picks a piece of kimchi. The corner of his mouth twitches up, blooming into a wide, lopsided grin. “Apparently the rice cooker comes with a list of pre-programed settings,” he says. “A very long list. Did you know you can use it to make stew? And braised meat? And risotto?”

Howon stares at him. “You mean you’d never used it before I did?”

“Nope,” Woohyun says. “I just—” He lowers his head as a blush spreads over his cheeks. “Microwavable rice. One minute and a half, and then—” He gestures with his left hand, like he’s plucking something out of thin air.

“That’s cheating, Woohyun-ssi,” Howon says, laughing into his glass of water. “Why buy that cooker, then?”

“I didn’t,” Woohyun replies. “It was a housewarming gift from a relative—a distant relative.” His smile softens, until it’s just a tiny curl of his lips. “The one I had before—We got it when we all moved into the bigger dorm, I think? It stopped working a few weeks ago.” There’s a lilt of nostalgia in his voice. “I would’ve bought a similar model myself, but I already had that one, so.” He shrugs. “It was a thoughtful present,” he says; all things considered, it doesn’t sound like he really means it.

“Oh.” Howon breathes in, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d kept the old one all this time.”

“I don’t know how to cook like my hyung does,” Woohyun says. “Or like my mom and yours do. But I learned a lot, all the years I spent using it.” His foot hooks around Howon’s ankle. “I had so many memories with it, too. It felt like we grew up around it.”

It hurts a little to think about how everything is different from then; a part of Howon will always miss the closeness of living with the others, even though it was stifling at times, even though he loves having his own apartment and the freedom and privacy that comes with it. The memories press down on his throat. He nods, because they did grow up together, and they have come a long way from there, and those feelings are too big to be put into words.

“Thanks for this, Howon-ah.” They’ve finished the soup, and the rest of plates are almost empty. “And for the song.”

Woohyun is staring at him, his chin resting on his own open palm. He looks travel-worn and small, but also flushed and happy. Howon thinks of the day he asked his mother how to make seaweed soup halfway through one of her phone calls. He thinks of how she paused after that, of those few seconds of silence before she started to explain the recipe step by step and named the ingredients Howon would need to cook the simplest and easiest version of it. He doesn’t tell Woohyun any of that—he will, some other day, but now it’s not the right moment. Mangmangie hops onto his lap, kneads his thighs and lies on him, tucking its paws against its body; Howon puts his hand on its back, feeling it purr under his fingers. “The fans praised my voice,” he says instead.

“I saw,” Woohyun chuckles and stands up, breaking the melancholy mood. He smiles at both of them. “Not only the fans, though.”

When Howon attempts to follow him, Mangmangie growls and clings to his pants. The sting of its claws keeps Howon from moving again, and he stays put while Woohyun loads the dishwasher and wipes the counter. There’s not much of a mess to put away, and soon Woohyun is walking up to him, circling Howon’s chair and squeezing his shoulder from behind. Howon turns his head, tilting his face back to catch Woohyun’s eyes. Woohyun bends forward and swoops down, catching Howon’s lips with his, opening them with the flick of his tongue. His mouth is slick and hot. His fingertips feel cool on Howon’s jaw.

Woohyun kisses him one last time and pulls away. “You’ve set the bar high, Howonie,” he whispers.

“Can I expect a full banquet next month, then?”

Woohyun snorts. “There goes my surprise.”

Howon takes his hand and tugs him closer. “Just promise me one thing, Woohyunie,” he says. “Whatever you make—”

“Yes?”

“No more microwavable rice.”

**Author's Note:**

> In Korea, seaweed soup (미역국) is given to new mothers after childbirth and also served on birthdays. There are many variations of this recipe, some of them made with beef or seafood; the one I used as reference can be found [here](http://kimchimari.com/miyeok-gook/).
> 
> The song Woohyun mentions when he thanks Howon is obviously [this one](https://twitter.com/Run__sunbbang/status/829354384702124032).
> 
> Just a short break from other wips--title is from Park Hyoshin's "Home"


End file.
